


An Ode to the Lonely

by keirajo



Series: Random Transformers Works (multiple generations, etc.) [6]
Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Longing, Loss, Regret
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-18
Updated: 2019-05-18
Packaged: 2020-03-07 11:36:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18872416
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/keirajo/pseuds/keirajo
Summary: Rodimus shouldn't bother himself about what could have been, after all he's on the Exitus now.





	An Ode to the Lonely

**Author's Note:**

> A companion piece to "An Ode to Those Left Behind".
> 
> I had a number of people ask if I'd continue that story, but it's hard for me to write a constantly angry/sad Rodimus when I don't have a positive ending to look forward to. I just happened to have some life-ickiness that allowed me to spawn another work to that universe. *wry laugh*

**_ An Ode to the Lonely _ **

 

 

            Thunderclash had gone to meet with the organics who had sent a distress call, leaving his Second-in-Command of the _Exitus_ in charge of the ship.   It seemed that Thunderclash liked to meddle far more than Rodimus ever had with the _Lost Light_ ………..

            “Hey, Rodimus,” a familiar voice of a femme asked, getting the flame-colored mech’s attention on the bridge.

            The mech addressed straightened up from the console he was leaning over and looked down at the short femme.   This was the _Exitus_ ’ Chief Medical Officer, Minerva.

            “I saw the new painting up for purchase on your site.   Think I can get a copy?”   Minerva asked, curiously, smiling up at the flame-colored mech.

            He’d been stuck on the ship for some years now and had reluctantly adjusted to his kidnapping by “ _the Great Thunderclash_ ”.   Some on the ship had been kind, but not excessively pushy about talking with Rodimus, who had gained nothing but an emotionless attitude over the years.   Rodimus had never actually been mean or angry at anyone except for Thunderclash, whom he bickered with **_every single time_** they talked to each other.

            It would’ve been much more bearable if Thunderclash would stop teasing him and stop flirting with him.

            “You want _that_ one?   You’re sure?   I mean…………Nyon didn’t exist on the Functionist Cybertron, did it?”  Rodimus asked, reaching up to rub the back of his neck.   He knew Minerva was from the Functionist Cybertron—at least two-thirds of the _Exitus_ ’ crew was, to tell the truth.

            “That doesn’t matter.   _I like it_.   It makes me feel both ache and joy,” the friendly CMO chuckled, standing in a relaxed pose with a servo on her hip as she looked up at the flame-colored mech who was far taller than she was.

            Minerva had seemed to be the only one on the ship who understood his paintings.   And she had nailed that one right on the money.    This most recent painting was of a shining, burning landscape of Nyon—with some of the memorable features, like the Citadel.   Rodimus had called it “ _Shining Disaster_ ” and he figured probably most people who saw it wouldn’t even understand it anyways.   Thinking of Nyon made Rodimus eternally sad…………and also secretly happy.   Nyon may have been a disaster area in the end, but Rodimus had **_loved_** his home and the sad, broken people who raised him in the ruins of what had once been one of Cybertron’s most beautiful cities.   Rodimus _loved it all_ and missed it more than he could ever say.  

            “ _Shining Disaster_ ” wasn’t his first Nyon painting, but it was the first one he offered for sale on his site.  Of course, like any good artist, he had an alias for his works.   And the way paintings were done in the modern era, with digital tools and formats—they were coded for a single-print-option for purchase.   This meant you were given a special code with the painting that would allow a proper print shop to print out one single copy for you—therefore, you would not only have to purchase the painting, really………but you would also have to pay for the printing and framing.   If you got it printed elsewhere, off-world, then you also took your own shipping risks…….!   It was a way designed to prevent theft and protect artist’s works, for the most part.   Otherwise, online at an artist’s gallery site—all works were viewed with a static-displacement watermark and trying to thieve from a site would net you nothing but a static-filled copy that was _completely unviewable_.

            “You _really_ like it, Minerva?”   Rodimus asked, walking up the stairs to the captain’s chair near the middle of the bridge.   He plopped down in it and checked the datapad with the current log.   “I put a lot of my Spark into that, honestly.   I must have scrapped it and repainted it about thirty times…………..”

            “It’s your most emotional work yet.   I don’t know what happened to your home, but seeing that………I _know_ it was Spark-breaking,” the small CMO said with a smile.

            “Rodimus, _sir_!   I have a report from the lounge,” Windsweeper said, firmly, from the communications’ console off to Rodimus’ left.   “It sounds like a fight has broken out………..”

            “Notify security to meet me there in two,” Rodimus answered, getting up.   “Place your purchase order, Minerva—I’ll get to it when I’m off-shift.”

            Rodimus walked swiftly and purposefully towards the ship’s lounge area and a force of five from security was at the door right as he was.    He placed his hands on his hips and looked at the security members.

            “We don’t know who started it or why.   Go in and observe for a few seconds before wading in and grabbing everyone—see if you can calm the most aggressive offenders first,” Rodimus ordered softly.   Then he turned and opened the door to see a full-scale barroom-type of brawl going on.   Tables and chairs were just everywhere, many broken.   _‘A whole lot of people are going to see their pay docked to refund all of this,’_ the flame-colored mech thought dispassionately as his optics quickly scanned the room.

            If anything, **_this_** was something he had plenty of experience with.   Not that it was something to brag about, but he’d started brawls like this as well, so Rodimus knew just who to look for in a mess like this.   And sure enough it was the very two he _expected_ , who were practically clawing each other apart.   He waded straight over to the two smaller mechs—not mini-bots, but both were shorter than him. 

            “Ruckus, Overdrive………..why don’t you two just get a room and frag each other, I’m sick of breaking up your fights,” Rodimus snapped softly, picking them both up by their collar fairing and hauling them over to the doorway of the lounge.

            After that, it didn’t take long for the remainder of security to calm the rest of the room down.

            Meanwhile Ruckus and Overdrive were snarling at each other and at Rodimus, each of them claiming it wasn’t his fault.    Rodimus frowned and rapped each of them sharply on the tops of their helms with his forefingers.

            “Well, guess what?   **_Now_** you two get to cool down in the cells, _congratulations_!”   Rodimus said, loudly, so that the entire room could hear him.   “As for the rest of you—as well as the offenders—you **_all_** get to pay for the damage done to the lounge.   I’ll be focusing on how much to take out of everyone’s pay and for how long and you’ll all notice some shorter paychecks for a while.   _Congratulations, everyone_!”   He added, clapping his servos in a sarcastic manner.

            The whole room went into moans of complaint and disappointment.   And everyone’s fields rippled with shame and regret.   Rodimus ordered security to take the two offenders to the cells as he went back to the bridge.   Thunderclash had apparently come back in the meantime and was getting updated by the bridge crew.

            “Welcome back,” Thunderclash chuckled, reaching over to pat Rodimus’ shoulder.  

            The flame-colored mech dodged the friendly gesture as he always did.

            “It was Overdrive and Ruckus _again_ , they’re staying in the cells overnight and I’ll be working with Pointblank to adjust everyone’s paychecks the next few months for the damage to the lounge,” Rodimus said, folding his arms across his chest.   “We _can’t_ have anarchy like this on the ship.   Primus, it’s like I’m back on the _Lost Light_ or something!”   The flame colored-mech groaned softly.

            “That wouldn’t be so bad, would it?”  Thunderclash asked, smiling down at his Second-in-Command, fondly.

            Rodimus opened his mouth to retort, a finger raised to accentuate his point, when suddenly a stark realization came over him.   He facepalmed himself and then muttered unintelligible things for a few seconds.

            “Primus…………we are the _Lost Light_ —and that makes _me_ Ultra Magnus!   And you’re **_me_**!”  Rodimus moaned.   “ _What the hell? **Seriously?!**_ ”   He groaned, bashing the heel of his servo lightly against his forehead.   “ _Nnngh_.   I have about twenty minutes before I’m off-shift.   I’m going to go collect the reports from security and then I’ll be in my room working.”

            “Shall I join you when I’m off-shift, or would you care to come to my room?”  Thunderclash teased with a grin on his faceplate.

            Rodimus crashed his datapad right in the center of his captain’s faceplate and then stormed off the bridge, muttering to himself.

 

*      *      *      *      *

 

            When Rodimus logged on to his gallery site, he had four new messages of sales and one personal message.   Three of the sales messages were from people who had purchased his works before, one was Minerva, so he recognized their i-mail addresses and approved the sales right away.   The other i-mail address was one that was not recognized and that was also where the personal message came from.   The flame-colored mech was very hesitant about looking, because it was likely someone who had been on the _Lost Light_ with him—and if it were from Ultra Magnus or Drift, he **_wouldn’t_** be able to handle that at all.   He figured the anonymity of the username he chose (it was nothing blatant that would actually reveal who he was—the glyph he’d chosen as his username and artist alias was a simple word, “ _hope_ ”) wouldn’t let anyone whom he’d used to know figure out who he was.

            But maybe uploading a painting of Nyon had destroyed his anonymity?

            After all…….. _who_ would paint Nyon?   Who would bother and who would want to?

            But he’d been _so happy_ with the painting—it had turned out **_so perfect_**!   He couldn’t **_not_** upload it for purchase!!!

            He finally clicked on the personal message and the first sentence in the message said “ _Don’t delete this until you’ve read the whole thing, because I know you’re probably thinking that right now, you damn brat._ ”

            Only one person _ever_ addressed him like that.   Only one person he knew addressed _everyone_ like that.   It could _only_ be Ratchet.   Yeah, **_Ratchet_** would connect a painting of Nyon to him.   But on the other hand, Ratchet would actually understand the painting—he knew the old medic liked many kitschy things (even though he complained about ever collecting things like that), because it was something so very normal.   Rodimus kind of wondered how Ratchet had stumbled across his site………….was he doing a specific image search or something?

 

_Don’t delete this until you’ve read the whole thing, because I know you’re probably thinking that right now, you damn brat.   It would be nice if we could hear that you’re alright or something, because Swerve has blown your attempted suicide all out of proportion.   Drift keeps having fits trying to find ways to contact you, but don’t worry—he’ll never connect you with painting and no matter how much he might know about Nyon, he’d never connect you to this painting.   And I want to buy it, because it will remind me that—at least for you—you are alive and you’re surviving.   I imagine you’re lonely though.   Whatever drove you to try and finally take your life now, out of all the chances you could’ve had all those past centuries—it had to be very bad and it only coincides with one thing that I’m aware of.   I didn’t realize you and Megatron had gotten that close.   That had to be the quietest relationship you’ve ever had, if I hadn’t noticed it.   After seeing this painting and looking at your other works—it’s likely that I’ll buy more later, but for now I just want to purchase this one.   I sent you a personal message because a strange buyer might have you hesitant on allowing the purchase if you can’t confirm identity—and you won’t be able to from this i-mail.   I have it blocked from all methods of hacking and spying, I have friends who can do those things.   Take care of yourself and think of contacting some of us back here on New Cybertron sometime.   There are a surprising amount of people who are still worried about if you’re alive or not.   Yours, Ratchet of Vaporex._

 

            In a way, it was kind of nice to have Ratchet _of all people_ contact him.   Straightforward and even with his slight concern over everything, he was not being condescending or pushy on trying to maintain a contact with anyone.   Ratchet would even understand if Rodimus never contacted him back, because that was the way the old medic was.    But he _was_ wrong about the Megatron thing—that all came together in those final moments.

            Yeah, maybe if either of them had been a bit bolder……….something could’ve happened a lot sooner.   But there was a wall between them all that time.   It only broke down to show them a taste of what _could’ve happened_ when Megatron showed Rodimus the battered old Rodimus Star he’d been keeping and the flame-colored mech had dove in to kiss him with all the pent-up passion he had all in an instant.

            _An instant that was too soon over with._

            Rodimus would never forget that look on Megatron’s face when he pushed himself away, right before Ultra Magnus came back to the cell.   _Longing and regret_ —emotions that echoed all the same ones within him.   The sudden knowing, that all those feelings were far too late to be brought to the table.

            Rodimus went back to the main message screen and touched the “ _approve sale_ ” tab on Ratchet’s i-mail address.   He did not message the old medic back.   Because if he did, he’d want to know about Drift………..and everyone else……….and it would make his Spark and program nothing but a swamp of loneliness and pain again—and he’d finally managed to get that buried down enough so that it didn’t hurt so sharply anymore.

            After checking any new messages from the ship crew and seeing if anything needed to be addressed right away— _which nothing did_ —he went over to his berth and laid down, pulling the battered old blanket up over him.   Then he opened the subspace pocket in his wrist and held the marred and dented old Rodimus Star above him.   He couldn’t believe that Megatron had held onto this for over eight-hundred years.   Rodimus thought Megatron abandoned them all in the Functionist Universe, but maybe he really hadn’t after all.   Maybe………. ** _ah_**.

            _Terminus_.

            Megatron had said that Terminus had been pushy about remaining back there.   And when they’d contacted Megatron to let him know the transport station had been changed—it was Terminus who answered, _not_ Megatron.   So, **_that_** was what really happened, _hunh_?

            Rodimus spent so much time being angry at Megatron—angry and hateful.   And really, if those emotions hadn’t been so strong within him…………what could he and the former Leader of the Decepticons have ever had together?   The flame-colored mech’s Spark began to ache as he remembered some of their final moments together—the battle against the Functionists and the opening of the Matrix Devices.   How Megatron had tried and couldn’t……….and wounded badly, Rodimus had opened it instead.   But he felt no anger towards Megatron, then.

            Megatron had his purpose.   To fight their way to the location—Megatron could fight far better than Rodimus could have.   It had been strange to see Megatron devastated that he couldn’t do it when he thought Rodimus had been killed…………and that he knew everyone else would’ve died if he couldn’t open it.   And when the flame-colored mech saw that look on Megatron’s face—everything, all that anger and hate that he’d felt towards Megatron had melted away.

            He _should’ve_ taken those few days of recovery to talk to Megatron.

            **_But he didn’t._**

            Rodimus figured he’d have all the time in the world for that now.   The fighting was over and they could all go off and explore new things now, since the quest was technically over (and something of a failure).   But Prowl had to be the aft that he’d always been, not just demanding the _Lost Light_ itself, but to continue Megatron’s trial.   A trial that, _no matter what it seemed that Megatron had actually done right_ , was still doomed to end in his execution.   Even Rodimus had lied on the witness stand, to paint such a heroic vision of Megatron being the one who saved them all—because _he_ opened the Matrix Device and Rodimus couldn’t— _none of that_ did anything to change Megatron’s fate from execution.

            The flame-colored mech sighed and put the battered old Rodimus Star back in his wrist’s subspace pocket.    All he could do now was just dream of something that _might have been_.   _That he wished **could have been**. _  He turned over and pulled the tattered old blanket up over his shoulders and put himself directly into recharge.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to anyone and everyone who reads my works, who leave kudos and comments........and everything. I put my heart into them all. *bows*


End file.
